Elisabeth, Constantine

Updated: Jan 23

The children,

no kin of mine,

stir to waking,

waiting

for me.


I stumble through narrow spaces

tiptoeing to question the hallways,

the starkness,

quiet,

and the meaning of sounds.


A mother's voice.

A boy in that window.

A living room chair.


They scream and sing

how they've missed me

and curl into the spaces on the couch,

hiding from their mother,

shielding me

with cold clouds,

like blankets.


They point to the spots on my face

and the curls in my hair.

They tell me I'm "funny"

and whisper my name,

hoping I hear their smiles.


I erase my home in the effort

of theirs.




18 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All